The Beauty in Our Violence
by K.H. Ivywater
Summary: Muraki/Tsuzuki. Takes place after volume nine of the manga. Tsuzuki's hallucination from the Hall of Candles has melded with previous dreams to become a nightmare that has plagued him for months. Meanwhile, Muraki is looking for revenge.


**The Beauty in Our Violence**

**by K.H. Ivywater**

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this story and no profit is being made. Tsuzuki Asato, Muraki Kazutaka, and all of the other lovely characters in this work of fiction are property of Matsushita Yoko.

**Notes:** Questions and comments and feedback are most welcome, and please let me know if you rec.

**Summary:** Muraki/Tsuzuki. Takes place after volume nine of the manga. Tsuzuki's hallucination from the Hall of Candles has melded with previous dreams to become a nightmare that has plagued him for months. Meanwhile, Muraki is looking for revenge. Rated M for adult situations.

**Dates:** This story was begun on March 11, 2009, and completed on April 20, 2009.

---

"Tsuzuki…marry me."

The rose isn't there, and he knows what this means. Terror coils around his spine like a serpent ready to strike. He doesn't want to be here, not again. Doesn't want to be lost in this fucked up amalgamation of pretty words and end results.

He murmurs "no" in quiet despair. Muraki mistakes it for a response.

"No? But…I love you." His voice is serious, so serious. Tsuzuki stares into his eyes in a vain attempt to keep the nightmare at bay, frightened even though he knows this isn't real. He doesn't interrupt when Muraki says, "I want to be with you…close to you, enveloped by you." The words drip with meaning, but Tsuzuki knows them by heart, knows that there are more important things to focus on. Like the fact that Muraki is slowly closing the space between them, and, as usual, Tatsumi hasn't kicked down the door.

The kiss is lazy but brief, and when it's over, Muraki's lips trace the line of Tsuzuki's jaw, settling against his ear to whisper wickedly, "There are so many things I want to do to you." Tsuzuki swallows, because the words were meant to be punctuated by wandering hands, yet there are none on his body. But Muraki doesn't seem bothered by this, not now, not yet.

"I want to make you suffer and cry," he continues dangerously. "I want to give you pleasure." He nips at Tsuzuki's earlobe, and Tsuzuki whimpers helplessly. The sound makes Muraki smile against his cheek.

"I want to make you reveal a part of yourself you've never shown anyone," he confides, and Tsuzuki squirms. He knows what's about to happen, knows it's his fault, but all he can think about is how there should be hands on him and there aren't and _oh god stop thinking about that or else…_

Muraki pulls back slightly and Tsuzuki meets his gaze in fear.

"Please…no…" he mumbles, but it's no use.

"Look at me, Tsuzuki." And he is, he is, but that isn't what Muraki means. "_Look at what you've done_."

Tsuzuki's eyes are drawn downward against his will. He screams.

The nightmare has come.

---

Muraki watches Tsuzuki's body thrash from the shadows and wonders what he is dreaming.

It was never supposed to happen this way. Saki is dead, but not by his own hand, and there is no way to bring him back this time. He has waited years for revenge, but it has all gone wrong, and now he will never be satisfied.

In the end, there is only one person to blame.

Tsuzuki had wanted to die with him before. Now he will get a second chance.

---

He should be used to it by now. Blood and muscles and tendons and _oh god_ it shouldn't bother him but it does.

"I can no longer hold you…or love you…" It's a thinly veiled accusation, and Tsuzuki recoils from it.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I'm so sorry."

"Tsuzuki…"

"No, please…no…no…"

"Tsuzuki…"

It takes him a moment to realize that it's a real voice from the real world. It takes him longer to realize that the voice hasn't changed. His eyes shoot open in the darkness of his room.

The first things he sees are roses.

---

The sudden flash of glittering amethyst causes Muraki to sigh with quiet pleasure. What would be beautiful on its own is made more so by the demon that lurks within.

"Muraki?" Tsuzuki's voice is heavy with sleep and something that sounds strangely like relief. A smile tugs at the corners of Muraki's mouth until he forces it to disappear.

"Aren't we past such formality by now?" he chides, shifting his weight and laying the roses down on the other side of Tsuzuki's body. "You could at least call me by my—"

"Kazutaka." It slips too easily from Tsuzuki's lips—a pleasant surprise, to be sure, but a perplexing one as well. He doesn't know what to make of it.

Nor is he certain what to make of the unnerving way that Tsuzuki is staring at his hands. He moves his palm slowly, deliberately across the bedsheets, and notes with amusement the way that purple eyes follow. But then Tsuzuki's gaze stops short, and suddenly long fingers are reaching toward him, moving past his coat to pull his shirt up slightly.

After a breathless moment Muraki figures out what it is that Tsuzuki's looking at, though he still doesn't understand why. It was months ago that the blade slid into his abdomen, and it has ceased to ache in the time since, but the scar will always be ghastly.

"I'm afraid I don't heal as prettily as you," he says quietly, when the silence has become absurd. Something in Tsuzuki's eyes is scaring him in all the right, delicious ways. He inhales sharply when soft fingers move over the ridges of the angry mark.

Perhaps _he_ is the one dreaming now.

He lets out his breath in a low purr, intent on provocation. "As marks of ownership go, yours gets right to the _point_, doesn't it?"

Tsuzuki's eyes flash darkly, and his response, when it comes, seems forced. "That isn't what this was, Muraki, and you know it." And Muraki is about to let fly an infuriating response, but Tsuzuki speaks first. "And no man could ever be your master."

"Mmm." Muraki tilts his head to the side, feeling horribly charmed. "But love can make us slaves." He watches Tsuzuki's expressions shift and change, until finally that soft hand is moving away. He means to catch it, but it stops abruptly before he has the chance, lingering in the folds of his coat. "Perhaps I enjoy bearing your mark," he murmurs, but Tsuzuki isn't listening. He's pulling a length of rope from Muraki's inner pocket.

Ah. How unfortunate.

"Did you come here to kill me?" An indelicate movement sends the rope down onto the roses, flattening the dark petals.

"Yes." The truth is far too lovely to deny. He can already imagine the bound and naked body, the scent of blood and fire and pain.

"Then do it," Tsuzuki says hollowly.

And Muraki considers it carefully for a moment, remembering the gorgeous way that Tsuzuki bleeds.

But then the words come again, cutting through the thick silence. "Do it." This time, it's almost a demand.

Giving in to it, of course, would be highly inappropriate. So Muraki kisses him instead.

He's almost disappointed when Tsuzuki doesn't struggle. And when Tsuzuki's mouth opens willingly a few moments later, he's certainly surprised.

Tsuzuki's lips are soft but angry as he returns the kiss, his hands gripping Muraki's coat desperately. Muraki's fingers have already lost themselves in dark hair, and he's exploring Tsuzuki's mouth with all the calculated interest of a man who's lived for science. Each stroke of Tsuzuki's tongue is not just another victory, it's another fact. He knows something now that he's certain no one else does.

Tsuzuki wants him.

He bites Tsuzuki's bottom lip viciously, soothing it with a kiss before pulling away completely. They're both breathless; Tsuzuki's eyes are wide and frantic with need. To smile in triumph would be to overdo it. Instead, Muraki graciously moves to leave.

Of course, Tsuzuki is startled by this. Muraki takes pleasure in it, takes pleasure in the quiet sputtering sounds that follow him as walks across the room to the door. As he reaches to open it, Tsuzuki finally blurts out, "You aren't going to kill me, then?"

And then Muraki does smile, looking backward over his shoulder so Tsuzuki will see. "Maybe some other time, Mr. Tsuzuki," he says lightly, honestly. And then he moves to walk through the door.

But in a matter of seconds, Tsuzuki has crossed the space between them, and Muraki is thrown against the wall. He chuckles darkly as the full length of Tsuzuki's body is pressed against his own. Tsuzuki's hungry mouth ravages him fiercely; his hands undress him in rough, angry movements. Muraki allows him to take this control.

But then Tsuzuki collapses against him with a strangled cry of despair, and Muraki wordlessly takes the power back. He knows what Tsuzuki needs.

He forces Tsuzuki onto the bed, scattering the rose stems. He shoves Tsuzuki's face into the pillows and kneels behind him, fingers gliding reverently across pale flesh. His knees are crushing petals and thorns are slicing into his skin and when he slides into Tsuzuki it seems strangely better than death.

So when Tsuzuki screams "harder," Muraki obliges. And when Tsuzuki begs "hurt me," Muraki does.

And when Tsuzuki's pleasure has spilled across the bedsheets and tears are flowing from his eyes, Muraki quietly collects his clothes and leaves.

That this is a far more generous gesture than staying would be is certain. Let it never be said that Muraki is not a gentleman.

As he slips back into the human world, Muraki considers what he knows.

Tsuzuki hates him, oh yes. But he wants him as well. And that is knowledge he can live with.

That is knowledge to live _for_.

---

**The End**


End file.
